


In The Corners Of Our Name

by tookumade



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Break Up, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 13:19:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16724169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tookumade/pseuds/tookumade
Summary: Suna’s brain is buzzing. Chuo University… he should have expected this, or at least not have been surprised by it. Chuo’s volleyball team had been gathering momentum over the past year and a half, and it was only natural that they’d catch Osamu’s attention.Chuo.Tokyo was not a short commute. Osamu would have to be living there.Suna wasn’t part of his future. Osamu hadn’t thought about him, hadn’t included him in his plans. He was looking forward, with a dream to chase—the kind of dream that suited him perfectly. If he could pass Chuo’s entrance exams… if Chuo could nurture Osamu’s talents… if he could thrive there… join a professional team, and then—Miya Osamu,in the black and red of the national team’s uniform, stepping out onto the court with the whole world watching.





	In The Corners Of Our Name

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a sequel to [_A Day By Atmosphere Supreme_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12617652).  
> Part 3 is coming up....... eventually.

It’s the start of summer, warm and humid as always. The Inarizaki volleyball team has just finished another intense day at training camp, the setting sun bathes everything in a warm golden glow, Osamu’s lying on the grass just outside their gymnasium, with his head resting on Suna’s lap, and Suna’s urge to nudge him off is growing increasingly stronger by the second.  
  
“I hope you know, I can feel your sweat dripping down my leg,” he says. “You couldn’t have towelled off first?”  
  
“Too much effort,” Osamu replies in a sleepy mumble.  
  
“It’s really gross.”  
  
“I know you don’t mean that.”  
  
“No, I really do. Get off me.”  
  
“It’s too hot, Rin.”  
  
“Get off me, then.”  
  
“It’s hot.”  
  
“I can make it worse.”  
  
“You’re not meant to make it worse, you’re meant to— _NOOO!_ ” Osamu yelps in protest when Suna dumps his towel onto Osamu’s face, and he flings it off, forcing himself to sit upright. “You _piece_ of _shit_ —”  
  
“I know you don’t mean that.”  
  
Osamu throws the towel at him, and Suna swats it away, and in the next handful of seconds, Osamu has pounced on him, and they engage in a very one-sided wrestling match, with Osamu easily grabbing Suna into a headlock, and Suna weakly trying to elbow him in the ribs.  
  
“How are you two still so energetic?” comes Kosaku’s tired voice amidst their laughter. They look up at him, towering over them with his hands on his hips. “Must be the power of love. Come on, coach is telling us to get ready for dinner.”  
  
“Ah, watered-down training camp curry. My favourite,” says Suna, voice muffled in the crook of Osamu’s elbow. “ _Get off me, you asshole_ —”  
  
Kosaku rolls his eyes as Osamu releases Suna, both snickering. “Come on, you gross lovebirds. Be grateful I’m the one who lost at rock-paper-scissors, or it’d be Atsumu telling you to hurry up.”  
  
“Well, then we’d just start making out in front of him until he runs away,” says Suna matter-of-factly. “But we like you too much for that, Yuuto.”  
  
“I’m honoured,” says Kosaku dryly. “Let’s go, already.”  
  
“Be right there,” says Osamu. Kosaku shakes his head and turns to walk away. They watch him go.  
  
“You can have half of my curry,” Suna offers when he is out of sight.  
  
Osamu scoffs. “What kind of angel would I be, if I let you go hungry?”  
  
“First of all: I can’t believe you just called yourself an angel.” They begin to stand. “Second: I just don’t know how you can eat it, it’s so bland.”  
  
“Anything tastes good when you’re hungry. You can have some of my vegetables, though.”  
  
“Can I have your miso soup?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“I want a divorce.”  
  
“You can have ‘Tsumu’s soup.”  
  
“Hmm… that works. I guess I’ll keep you around, then.” Loosely, Suna links their fingers together. Osamu grins and digs a gentle elbow into his ribs.  
  
They carry on this way until they reach the sleeping quarters so they can get changed first: slow paced with easy banter, and walking closely by each other, with the complaints about the heat apparently forgotten. The grounds are empty; most of their teammates and coaching staff are probably already in the dining area by now. If it were any other day, Osamu and Suna would have already joined them, but today, they take their time. They are content with this.

 

* * *

 

  
  
On the last day of the training camp, for no reason, Suna wakes up about fifteen minutes before the team’s seven o’clock alarm. He sits upright and squints around the room, rubbing at his eyes. No one else is awake at this time; even the usual early joggers are sleeping peacefully, probably tired out from almost a week’s worth of intensive training.  
  
In the futon beside Suna’s, right at the end of the row as usual, Osamu is also still sleeping. The light from the morning sun is bright enough that Suna can see him clearly; he has a peaceful expression on his face, with one arm thrown above his head, one foot stretched out onto Suna’s futon, and his blanket only half-covering him. Suna fights back a laugh, reaches over, and gently shakes him awake.  
  
“Hrmgh?” Osamu starts and looks up at him, and Suna presses a finger to his lips.  
  
“Morning,” he whispers. “Sleep well?”  
  
“I _was_ ,” Osamu whispers back, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “How long have you been awake?”  
  
“I just woke up.”  
  
“What time is it?”  
  
“Nearly seven.”  
  
“Hm.” Osamu looks at him for a bit, before straightening himself, wriggling over to Suna’s futon, lying back down with his head on Suna’s lap, and closing his eyes again. With a little huff of laughter, Suna leans back on one hand, and begins combing his other hand through Osamu’s hair.  
  
He might’ve drifted off back to sleep. It helps that he had only just woken up, but that’s an enviable thing about Osamu: he can fall asleep just about anywhere. Here, or in the classroom behind his science textbook, on Suna’s shoulder while they’re waiting for Atsumu, on the floor of his living room when they’re meant to be studying…  
  
Absently, Suna stops moving his hand through Osamu’s hair.  
  
Wow. Had it already been half a year since they started dating? That was fast… they had greeted the new year together, lost their Nationals match, watched the previous third years graduate, started their own third year, began guiding the new first years on the team… so much had happened so quickly, Suna barely had time to think about it all.  
  
Osamu shifts his head and sighs comfortably, and Suna looks down at him and smiles. Well. This probably wouldn’t change much. He runs his fingers through Osamu’s hair again.  
  
Three phone alarms go off at the same time, and then several others sound a second later. Their teammates begin waking up, all groans and yawns and incoherent mumbles of complaint. It sounds like a sleepy zombie uprising, and the thought makes Suna snicker.  
  
Osamu hasn’t moved. Suna leans over to turn the ringing alarms off on both their phones. For a little while, he watches as the others climb and step over each other, sifting through bags, folding up futons and blankets, and shuffling in and out of the room so they can get ready for the day.  
  
He shakes Osamu’s shoulder and says, “Hey, we gotta go.”  
  
With a groan, Osamu opens his eyes and peers up at him. “Can’t you bring me breakfast instead?”  
  
“Hell no.” Suna smiles. “Come on, get off me, or I’ll eat your share.”  
  
“And what if I don’t move?”  
  
Suna folds his legs and begins wriggling out from under his head, until Osamu flops back onto Suna’s futon with a squawk of protest.  
  
“If you both don’t get out of here, I’ll eat _both_ your share of food,” comes Atsumu’s voice behind them. They both look over at him to see his face scrunched up. “You’re setting a bad example for our first years! They’re already up, and you’re still slacking. Come on, already.”  
  
“Can you bring us both breakfast?” asks Suna.  
  
Atsumu stares at him like he’s just suggested Atsumu clean all the toilets by himself. Then, he rolls his eyes, sighs, shakes his head, and walks away. Osamu looks up at Suna.  
  
“Why’d you bother?”  
  
Suna shrugs. “It was worth a shot.”  
  
They begin to get ready for the day.

 

* * *

 

  
  
Suna enters Osamu’s classroom at lunchtime, and Osamu looks up from his bento box just in time to easily catch the bottle of orange juice that Suna gently lobs at him.  
  
“You’re lucky I have good reflexes. What’s this for?”  
  
Suna pulls up a chair and sits at Osamu’s desk with his own lunch: a large, delicious, and very stuffed sandwich that his mother had gotten too carried away with filling. “Can’t I give my boyfriend something nice?”  
  
Osamu squints at him suspiciously. “What did you do to my volume of _Hunter X Hunter?_ ”  
  
“Nothing!” Suna protests. “It’s still in mint condition, I promise! I just wanted to get you orange juice, because I’m that amazing.”  
  
They stare at each other. When Osamu narrows his eyes even further, Suna reaches for the bottle and says, “Fine, I’ll take it back, since you obviously don’t want—”  
  
Osamu yanks it out of his reach, uncaps it, and takes a long swig. With his mouth still filled with orange juice, he flashes Suna a peace sign with his free hand. Suna rolls his eyes at him and takes a bite of his sandwich.  
  
They eat and talk about anything that comes to mind. While discussing some of the first year middle blockers on the team, Osamu swats Suna’s hand away whenever he tries to steal a piece of crumbed pork from his bento box, but eventually relents and gives him a slice; when talking about the latest _One Piece_ chapter, Suna lets Osamu have a bite from his sandwich, and then kicks him under the table in protest when the bite is too big. Their company is easy, familiar, and comfortable, and Suna thinks that he wouldn’t exchange these moments for the world.  
  
Eventually, they finish their food. Suna throws away his sandwich wrapping, and Osamu wraps up his empty bento box and returns it to his bag. Suna watches as he wipes down his desk, tucks the orange juice bottle close to him like it’s a plush toy, and then pillows his head against his arms folded on the clean desk top, apparently keen for a quick shut-eye before his next class. Suna huffs a little laugh and leans his elbows on the desk as well, with his cheek resting in one hand.  
  
“Sometimes, I wonder if you’re asleep more than you’re awake, when you’re with me,” he says, fondly. Osamu opens his eyes to look at him.  
  
“It’s a compliment. You’re comfortable to be around,” he says. “I know you won’t do something stupid, like draw on my face.”  
  
“That’s because it’s funnier if I draw on Atsumu’s,” says Suna. “Can’t mess up your beautiful face, now, can I?”  
  
“Why can’t you just finally admit that I’m the hotter twin?”  
  
“Because I like playing hard-to-get. Go to sleep.”  
  
“Uugghh.” Osamu closes his eyes again. “You might as well draw on my face.”  
  
“I definitely can, if you want me to.”  
  
“Nooooo.” Osamu buries his face deeper into his arms. Suna laughs, soft. He rests his hand on Osamu’s elbow, and looks out the window. It’s surprisingly nice out, given that it had been raining on-and-off all morning. It’s the tail-end of summer—they would have to get used to the rain again.  
  
(Oh, it’s seriously already nearly autumn? No wonder it feels like they’d been seeing so much of the careers counsellor lately…)  
  
The bell rings. Osamu doesn’t budge. That’s okay; one of his classmates will poke him before the teacher gets here. Probably. Suna leans down and presses a kiss to his temple.  
  
“See you at practice,” he murmurs.  
  
“Thanks for the orange juice,” Osamu replies sleepily. Not raising his head, he moves a hand to grasp at Suna’s sleeve briefly, before letting go. Suna can’t help it—there’s a little flutter in his chest, because, _dammit_ , he really likes this boy, and if he thought that the little flutters would stop after dating him for this long… well, he was mistaken.  
  
Sometimes, he is fine with being mistaken.  
  
Unable to fight back a smile, he stands from his chair and returns it to the desk in front of Osamu’s, and leaves the classroom.

 

* * *

 

  
  
He feels sorry for their school’s incredibly patient careers counsellor, whenever it’s his turn for a discussion. Suna hasn’t thought as hard as he probably should have about his future plans, and their sessions together usually consists of the counsellor pointing out different career paths, and Suna humming over them for a moment and getting the counsellor’s hopes up, before shooting them down. He’s not doing it on purpose, he swears, but… sometimes the options just don’t interest him.  
  
He avoids talking about it with his friends, and he knows it’s mutual. Everyone’s excuse, especially for his volleyball club teammates, is that they want to focus on club duties, but they all know it’s also because of the fact that it’s their last year. Who on earth wanted to accept the sudden change, the responsibility of choosing their entire life’s path so early on?  
  
He probably _should_ bring it up, though.  
  
Suna’s at the Miya household on Sunday morning in an attempt to study with Osamu. Apparently, once Atsumu had heard Suna was coming over, he had rolled his eyes and immediately made plans to study with Kosaku and Ginjima.  
  
“I’m an amazing brother, and you should be grateful,” he had told Suna sharply in lieu of a greeting when they passed each other at the front door. Osamu flung a couch cushion at his retreating back, which only just missed and bounced off the doorframe instead.  
  
“He’s right, we should be grateful,” says Suna with a hum. “We should eat all his snacks, as thanks.”  
  
Osamu shakes his head. “He took them all with him. He’s gotten smarter.”  
  
“Huh. Took him long enough, I guess…”  
  
They lay all their study materials out on the table in the living room and sprawl out on the floor, like a well-practised routine. Suna curiously tries some salted egg chips that Osamu’s father had brought back from a trip to Singapore, and Osamu starts on some Apollo Strawberry Chocolate pieces. They’ll begin studying eventually, but a relatively lazy Sunday like this hardly invited urgency.  
  
“Have you talked to the careers counsellor about what you want to do after high school?” Suna asks, leaning against the couch. Osamu nods.  
  
“I want to go pro and keep playing volleyball, and I want to get into Chuo. Their team’s been doing well, and I might try for their sports scholarship, too,” he says.  
  
There’s a sinking feeling in Suna stomach, and he tries to push it away.  
  
“Chuo like… Chuo University in Tokyo?”  
  
“Yeah!”  
  
“Oh.” Suna pauses, and then adds, “I bet Atsumu would love that.”  
  
Osamu nods again, mock-seriously. “Hell yeah. I’ll lose my Kansai accent, speak like a native Tokyo boy, forget how to do our comedy routines… he can’t even pretend he isn’t related to me because we’re literally twins.”  
  
Suna snorts with laughter and looks away, busying himself with opening his exercise books and flipping to the right pages of his textbooks. Osamu stretches comfortably, and begins to do the same, and they fall into a studious silence for a while.  
  
But Suna’s brain is buzzing. Chuo… he should have expected this, or at least not have been surprised by it. Chuo’s volleyball team had been gathering momentum over the past year and a half, and it was only natural that they’d catch Osamu’s attention. _Chuo_. Tokyo was not a short commute. Osamu would have to be living there.  
  
Suna wasn’t part of his future. Osamu hadn’t thought about him, hadn’t included him in his plans. He was looking forward, with a dream to chase—the kind of dream that suited him perfectly. If he could pass Chuo’s entrance exams… if Chuo could nurture Osamu’s talents… if he could thrive there… join a professional team, and then—  
  
_Miya Osamu_ , in the black and red of the national team’s uniform, stepping out onto the court with the whole world watching.  
  
Where was Suna in that picture? What was he doing?  
  
Was he in that picture?  
  
Did he love volleyball enough to carry on with it? Maybe. He could keep playing, keep putting in the effort. Suna was a good player, and that wasn’t even a brag—he was one of the best high school middle blockers in the country.  
  
But could he keep that up in university? And what about beyond that? Could he love volleyball enough? Where did Osamu fit into Suna’s future?  
  
“Rin? You okay?”  
  
Suna looks up sharply to see Osamu staring at him curiously.  
  
“Oh… yeah, I was just thinking about…” He gestures vaguely to his homework. “How to avoid doing all this.”  
  
“You haven’t _started_.”  
  
“Yeah, it’s already too much.” Suna winces, but Osamu grins.  
  
That flutter in his chest again, but it feels different from the warm flutters he’d been feeling. It feels a little… off, somehow.  
  
( _Chuo_. Tokyo. A long train ride away.)  
  
Suna could give Osamu bottles of orange juice and comfortable company and a shoulder or a lap to fall asleep on, and that was all well and good, but… if it were in his power to do so, wouldn’t he give him more? Osamu had never been satisfied with just sitting still. Why should Suna?  
  
(High school, university, a professional career. That natural talent, honed until he could take on the world’s best.)  
  
Neither a god nor a star out of reach—just a boy with a beautiful smile, who deserved a more splendid stage.  
  
(Could he give him Tokyo?)  
  
Oh.  
  
The little flutter stops. Suna pushes his books aside.  
  
“You’re studying for English, right?” he says, picking up Osamu’s textbook. “I’ll quiz you.”  
  
“Hm? What about your work?”  
  
Suna smiles, shakes his head, and turns a page. “Don’t worry about me.”

 

* * *

 

  
  
Three universities’ volleyball teams have already made loud whispers about wanting Atsumu to join them next year, and that’s never been a surprise. He’s _Atsumu_ , Inarizaki’s poster-boy, their team’s brightest star, their greatest asset. Depending on who you ask, he’s the biggest pain in the ass, too, but Suna thinks that ever since the new first years joined their team, Atsumu’s actually been a bit better behaved. Maybe. (It’s hard to say.)  
  
The point is, Osamu is not Atsumu. They’re both good volleyball players, they both love it and work hard for it, but Osamu just doesn’t have that ruthlessness that Atsumu has; he isn’t so willing to burn bridges, to burn other people, to strain himself to unhealthy levels, just so he can power through and achieve his goals.  
  
With that thought in mind, Suna rests his head on Osamu’s shoulder and curls his fingers around the hem of his sports jacket. Osamu doesn’t think anything of it, and simply continues playing his soccer game on his phone. They’d just finished up training for the day, and are sitting on the stairs outside the gymnasium together for a moment of quiet in the late afternoon. Atsumu had left for home just a minute or two ago, the last to finish up training after practising his jump serves like a demon as usual. The interest the universities had shown in him had been mutual, and Atsumu had made no secret of the fact that he was aiming for the very top. This has never been a surprise, either.  
  
The universities had been quieter about Osamu. There was interest, yes, and Chuo had been one of the whisperers—but it was clear that Atsumu was the bigger prize in everyone’s eyes.  
  
Osamu accepts this. Suna remembers the time Atsumu had been the only one invited to the All-Japan Youth training camp, and it feels exactly the same as then. Osamu would be disappointed, but he would accept it, quietly, and then use it to spur himself on. He would keep working hard to bridge the slowly widening gap between them, to keep proving to others and to himself that he was every bit as good as Atsumu is.  
  
But he’ll still never be ruthless enough to close the gap completely.  
  
Was that what he needed, though? Ruthlessness? Osamu wasn’t an angel, but he just… wasn’t built for that.  
  
That was okay, though, wasn’t it? That’s one reason Suna likes him so much, after all.  
  
(Chuo. Tokyo.)  
  
Was it enough, what Osamu had right now? Was it enough to push him so he could grab hold of his dream? If, for whatever reason, he didn’t make it into Chuo, what would happen then? How badly would that kick Osamu down, compared to the past?  
  
(That natural talent, honed until he could take on the world’s best.)  
  
How could Suna help give him Tokyo?  
  
Beside him, the music and sound effects from Osamu’s phone stops, and there is shuffling as he slips it into his pocket. Suna sits up and looks at him.  
  
“Ready to go?” asks Osamu.  
  
“Actually… I was wondering if you wanted to get a bit more extra practice in before dinnertime. What’s that look for?”  
  
Osamu is staring at him like he’d just sprouted another head. “You? Staying back? For more practice?” he splutters. “ _You?_ ”  
  
“That’s rude.”  
  
“Wait, I have to call Oomimi-san and tell him about this.”  
  
Suna cuffs his shoulder, and Osamu jumps off the staircase.  
  
“Who are you, and what have you done with my Rin?!” he says, pointing at him accusingly. “You can’t fool me, imposter!”  
  
“ _Jeez_ , I’m sorry I offered,” says Suna, pulling a face at him. “I thought you’d be happy with more practice.”  
  
“I am,” says Osamu. “But coming from _you_ , it’s weird.”  
  
“Oi.”  
  
“Seriously, though—we shouldn’t. Not after we’ve cooled down already, plus the coaches really put you and the other middle blockers through your paces today. Aren’t you tired?”  
  
Suna is, but he doesn’t want to admit it. He shrugs instead.  
  
“You might hurt yourself if you overdo it,” Osamu continues. “And anyway, dinnertime is… now. So let’s call it a day, and maybe we can do extra practice after tomorrow’s training, instead.”  
  
He’d never be ruthless enough. He loved volleyball a stupid amount, but never too much, never so much that he bled more than he sweated and cried.  
  
( _God_ , Suna liked him so much.)  
  
“Okay,” says Suna, holding out his hands. “Help me up.”  
  
With a scoff, Osamu grins, takes his hands, and pulls him to his feet.

 

* * *

 

  
  
On a day when the volleyball team’s coaching staff had insisted they take a day off from training, and wouldn’t let any of them into the gymnasium, Atsumu finds Suna waiting by the gates after school, and kicks his foot. Suna looks up from his phone.  
  
“Apparently, ’Samu did badly on his science test,” says Atsumu, “so he needs to stay back to speak to Wada-sensei. He said to go on without him.”  
  
“Oh,” says Suna blankly. “Okay, thanks for letting me know.”  
  
“You coming, or…?”  
  
“Uh… no, I’ll wait for him.”  
  
A faint smiles crosses Atsumu’s face. “You two are disgustingly good together,” he says matter-of-factly. “See you tomorrow.”  
  
He leaves, and Suna moves to sit on one of the nearby benches in the school grounds instead. Now, he feels jittery. Osamu had done badly on his test. How badly? How much would this affect their exams and such? How would this affect his chances of getting into Chuo? Of going to Tokyo? What had went wrong? They’d been studying together a little more than usual, with Suna even trying to make sure they weren’t fooling around and getting distracted as often as they usually did. Had that not been enough? Well… apparently so.  
  
After several minutes, with the school’s grounds emptying and leaving Suna alone, there’s movement from the corner of his eye, and he looks up to see Osamu exiting the front entrance. He stands up and hurries towards him.  
  
“Osamu!”  
  
Osamu turns, and his face eases into a smile. “Hey. Were you waiting for me? Didn’t ‘Tsumu say to go on ahead?”  
  
“Yeah, he did.” Suna grabs Osamu’s bag and unzips it.  
  
“What are you—”  
  
Suna finds what he had been looking for: Osamu’s science test, with copious amounts of red pen marked all over it, and “38/60” written at the top, circled with an air of disappointment about it.  
  
“Oh, shit,” says Suna.  
  
“I didn’t _fail_ ,” Osamu insists. “I mean, it wasn’t great, but—”  
  
“Come on, let’s go to the library and go over what went wrong.”  
  
“Whaaat? I already went over some of the questions with Wada-sensei, and I know what I need to re-study, so—”  
  
“ _Come on_.”  
  
“I’m hungry.”  
  
“We’ll get a snack on the way. Let’s go.” Suna seizes his arm and begins dragging him out of the school grounds. Osamu awkwardly attempts to shoulder his bag while he’s being manhandled.  
  
“Why are you freaking out about my test more than I am?” he asks.  
  
“Because I need to be able to brag that my boyfriend got into Chuo.” Suna releases him and starts flipping through his test papers. “Chuo won’t take you like this.”  
  
“How did you go on yours?”  
  
“Better than you.”  
  
“That’s not saying a lot, Rin.”  
  
“I got fifty-three out of sixty.”  
  
Osamu sighs loudly. “That’s unfair… you really don’t look like you’re good at studying, you know?”  
  
Suna smacks him in the face with the papers. “Excuse me.”  
  
“That sounded better in my head. I meant that even I forget that about you, sometimes.”  
  
“And how does one _look good at studying_ , exactly?”  
  
Osamu turns to him, now with a shit-eating grin. “You… look good… while you’re studying? It’s a compliment!” He throws his hands up in front of his face when Suna raises the papers again, menacingly.  
  
“Come on, Osamu. You’ve got to take this more seriously. I have a lot of bragging rights on the line, you know. When you become pro and famous, I plan to name-drop you at every chance I get so I can receive VIP treatment everywhere.”  
  
Osamu reaches for Suna’s hand so he can link their fingers together. “Maybe I’ll get a ramen named after me.”  
  
“And you’ll get a parfait and a smoothie named after you too. _But_ that means—” Suna waves his test papers and looks at him pointedly.  
  
“Okay, okay, _Suna-sensei_. I get it. Snack first though.” Osamu steers them into the 7-Eleven up ahead. Suna rolls his eyes and studies the test papers again, making notes of what needs to be revised. He doesn’t feel so jittery anymore, but the thought of Chuo rejecting Osamu based off mediocre exam scores leaves a bad taste in his mouth. Osamu deserved better than that.  
  
He looks up and watches Osamu mull over which onigiri he wants to get, and then he makes Suna pay for two of them by sifting through his bag and pulling out his wallet. Half-distracted, Suna lets him.  
  
“Jeez, you look like it’s the end of the world,” says Osamu, when they leave the 7-Eleven and he begins unwrapping one of the onigiri. “I promise, I’ll study harder and I won’t do as badly again, but lighten up, okay? You’re worrying me.”  
  
Suna’s expression softens, and he tucks the test back into Osamu’s bag. “Yeah, okay, sorry,” he says. “Library, now?”  
  
“Yes, Suna-sensei,” says Osamu, voice muffled around his food.  
  
“Stop that.”  
  
“Okay, Suna-sensei.”  
  
“Oi.”  
  
“Sorry, Suna-sen—” Osamu dodges and dashes ahead when Suna swipes at him.

 

* * *

 

  
  
They carry on like this over the next few weeks, studying together more often than they had been, with Suna taking a more active role in semi-tutoring Osamu. For all his carefree and careless attitude, Suna _is_ rather good at maths and science in general, and Osamu is a surprisingly quick learner.  
  
(“Oi, it’s not _that_ surprising!”)  
  
They stay back for extra volleyball practice after training, too. Atsumu, ever-competitive, especially when Osamu is concerned, always stays back with them, and _that_ usually means the rest of the third years will join them, though whether it’s because they actually want to practise, or because of some sense of clinging onto their last year together, Suna isn’t so sure. The coaching staff are increasingly exasperated as they tell them over and over again not to overdo it, and to get adequate rest, but they might as well be talking to brick walls.  
  
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Osamu asks Suna half-way through extra practice on a Saturday. Suna is sitting on the floor and leaning against the wall with a water bottle in his hands, catching his breath.  
  
“You know that I have the stamina to match you when we go on runs, so don’t worry about me,” Suna replies.  
  
“Only if you try, though.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Which is, like… never.”  
  
“You’re on thin ice, darling.”  
  
Osamu grins, leans down to quickly kiss his hair, and then heads back onto the court he’d been practising serves on. Honestly, his serves are already deadly enough; if he gets any stronger, he’s going to start putting dents into the court floor. That could work in their favour in a match, though.  
  
( _Miya Osamu, in the black and red of the national team’s uniform, stepping out onto the court with the whole world watching._ )  
  
Suna shuts his eyes for a moment. _Chuo_. Osamu’s recent quizzes and tests had come back with better scores than that horror that had been his science test, but was it enough? Conquering the local tournaments, conquering nationals. Tokyo. A professional career, the national stage. Was this preparation enough?  
  
“Rintarou!” comes Ginjima’s voice, and Suna opens his eyes again to see Gin next to him, looking concerned. “You okay, man?”  
  
“Yeah,” says Suna. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just taking a breather. Want to grab Atsumu, and we can practice spikes and receives?”  
  
“Okay! We can switch around. I want to try doing some tosses, too.” Ginjima offers his hand, and helps Suna to his feet. They snag Atsumu, who’s practising his jump floater serves, and take over his section of the court.  
  
Suna has to get his head in the game. If he wants to help push his team forward—help push Osamu forward—then he can’t fall behind. He has to believe that all this preparation is enough. He’s not sure he can do otherwise.  
  
At the end of practice, when the third years have finally finished and locked up the gymnasium for the day, they head over to one of the nearby udon restaurants for a cheap late-lunch together. Osamu falls into step beside Suna; the others are further up ahead, with Atsumu talking Ginjima fervently through some finer points of tossing.  
  
“Are you okay?” Osamu asks quietly.  
  
“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” says Suna.  
  
“Everyone?”  
  
“You, Gin… okay, just you and Gin.”  
  
“It’s because you look like I nearly failed another test. You’re all gloomy, especially right here—” Osamu pokes at the space between Suna’s brows, and Suna swats him away. “Did I do something wrong?”  
  
“What? _No_ , why would you think that?”  
  
Osamu shrugs and slips his hands into the pockets of his jacket. Suna links their arms together. “Just checking.”  
  
“I’m fine. I’m just tired from training… and hungry.”  
  
“You’ll tell me if something’s wrong, yeah?”  
  
Suna bumps into him lightly. “Nothing’s wrong, Osamu.”  
  
“Hm… okay.” Osamu looks unconvinced, and Suna can’t blame him. “Did you want to come over after lunch?”  
  
“Today? Sure, we can study for that big maths test we’ve got coming up.”  
  
Osamu groans. “Nothing gets by you, huh? Yeah, okay. Did you want to stay for dinner, too? My parents keep missing you whenever you come over; they’re always telling me to invite you again.”  
  
“Tell them I said thanks, but I’m going to be a good boy and go home, and let their son work without distractions, so he can get into Chuo.”  
  
“Oh, you’re _distracting me_ , are you, Suna Rintarou?”  
  
“Damn right I am.” Suna smirks. “You’d walk into a street sign because you were too busy staring at me. Don’t even front.”  
  
That was pretty rich, coming from the guy who got hit in the face by Aran’s serve last year because he was too busy staring at Osamu. He keeps this a secret.  
  
“Yeah? Remember that time you walked into my classroom’s doorframe because you were too busy trying to tell me something?”  
  
“That was one time!” Suna lies. “And that _hurt_ , physically and emotionally. I can’t believe you laughed that hard.”  
  
“You would’ve laughed if it were me.”  
  
“That’s true.”  
  
Osamu snickers. These easy, casual moments are nice—a good break from what Suna realises really has been some mounting stress over Osamu’s future plans, and from Suna’s apparent gloominess. He takes a deep breath of the cool afternoon air and huddles a little closer to him.  
  
“I can smell the soup,” he murmurs. They can see the restaurant up ahead.  
  
“I hope Tokyo’s udon is as good as this place,” says Osamu, dreamily.  
  
If he made it to Chuo. Suna tries to ignore the little swoop in his stomach. “We’ve never had udon in Tokyo before, have we? Whenever we went up for Nationals?”  
  
“I don’t think so.”  
  
Ahead, Ginjima calls to them. “Oi, hurry up, you two! The kitchen closes up soon!”  
  
With an exchange of grins, Suna and Osamu quicken their pace, towards the smell of delicious udon broth.

 

* * *

 

  
  
For all his talk of stamina and keeping up with the team, though, Suna might be struggling the most out of all the third years. He’s always known that his teammates weren’t quite human in their abilities and stamina—hell, people say that about him too, sometimes—but it becomes clearer to him that they were more like monsters.  
  
“I thought this was kind of normal,” Kosaku admits. Suna, hunched over with his hands on his knees and catching his breath after several minutes of intense non-stop receiving practice, looks up to glare at him.  
  
“‘Normal’ _my ass_ ,” he says. “If we can’t win all our Nationals matches at this rate, I’m seriously going to think that the other schools might be using robots.”  
  
“You okay, Rintarou?” says Atsumu, coming up to them. Suna braces himself for a scolding, but Atsumu just frowns. Having the first years around really was very good for his character.  
  
“I’m fine,” says Suna. “Don’t worry about me, I’m just—”  
  
“Rin, are you tired?” Now, Osamu pops up. “Guys, Rin and I are gonna cool down and—”  
  
“What? No, I’m fine,” Suna protests.  
  
“—head home first.”  
  
Atsumu shrugs. “Suit yourself. You and I should practice our super-quick more tomorrow, though.”  
  
“Sure.”  
  
“I’m _fine_ ,” says Suna. “We can stay for more pract—”  
  
“No, you look exhausted,” says Osamu, grabbing his sleeve and dragging him towards the sidelines so they can do their cool-down stretches. “Let’s finish up for today and go home.”  
  
“Just because _I’m_ tired, doesn’t mean you have to leave,” says Suna.  
  
“I’m tired, too!”  
  
“Like hell you are.”  
  
Osamu points to the sweat dripping down his forehead and says, “What do you call this?”  
  
“Water.”  
  
“ _Home time_. Quit being so stubborn.”  
  
Osamu adjusts his grip so he’s holding Suna’s arm instead of his sleeve, and continues hauling him off the court. That’s the thing with Osamu—he’s one of the strongest players on the current team, and when he puts his mind to it, even Ginjima has trouble making him physically budge, so Suna hardly stands a chance. He sighs and lets himself be pulled away. He was hoping to at least hold out for another fifteen minutes for Osamu’s sake, but regular training _had_ been pretty rough. He knows Osamu is probably fine, but Suna himself, not so much.  
  
They start their stretches, and Suna stares at the floor most of the time as he moves. He can’t help it—it feels like he’s holding Osamu back.  
  
(Chuo. Tokyo. A dazzlingly bright future.)  
  
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay?” he asks. “I can go home first, if you wanted to practise some more.”  
  
“Nope, that’s enough,” Osamu replies without hesitation. “We’re not machines, Rin. We’re not _Atsumu_. And anyway, we did good work today. Did you want to go out somewhere to eat?”  
  
Suna shakes his head. “Study.”  
  
Osamu cringes. “Cursed word. No more.”  
  
“Chuo’s waiting. Exams will be here quicker than you realise.”  
  
“Horrible. Terrible. Are you studying with me, then? I’ve got English to go through.”  
  
“Your English is usually pretty okay, though, isn’t it?”  
  
“It’s my subtle way of getting you to hang out with me.”  
  
“Romantic. Yeah, okay.”  
  
“Don’t sound too enthusiastic,” says Osamu dryly.  
  
“That’s not—” Suna shakes his head again. “Maybe I’m more tired than I thought.”  
  
Osamu’s expression softens. “I was kidding. But, you should go home, then. You’ve been working hard for a while now. Oomimi-san probably wouldn’t believe me if I told him.”  
  
“ _Hey_ ,” Suna protests, and Osamu’s face breaks into a grin. “That was a low-blow! Totally unnecessary!”  
  
“Go home, Rin.”  
  
“I am having serious second thoughts about dating you.”  
  
Osamu kicks his foot playfully. “Way too late for second thoughts.”  
  
They complete their stretches and stand to make their way to the change rooms. Suna has another insistence at the tip of his tongue that Osamu practice some more, but he bites it back. Osamu probably _would_ stay back if he wanted to, so if he said he was tired, then he was tired. Suna has to believe that he isn’t holding Osamu back. He has to believe this is enough.  
  
Maybe it shows on his face, though, because when they finally leave the gymnasium, Osamu just links their fingers together without a word, and they walk in silence until they’re near Suna’s house. All this time, he doesn’t make his usual attempts at steering them on a detour so he can get a snack from a nearby store, and Suna finds himself grateful.  
  
“Get some rest, okay?” says Osamu when they stop walking. “We need all your blocking skills for next practice.”  
  
“Don’t worry about me,” says Suna with a little smile, wrapping his arms around Osamu’s neck. “I’ll keep up. I won’t need to tap out early next time.”  
  
“Don’t force yourself.”  
  
Suna gives him a mock-unimpressed look. “Me? Force myself? Who do you think you’re talking to?”  
  
Osamu just grins, pulls him close, and kisses him on the lips.

 

* * *

 

  
  
The weather cools over the coming weeks, but nothing else changes drastically. They continue studying together or with their friends, and Osamu’s test scores are getting better—good, even. They do extra training after regular sessions half the time, because the coaching staff kicks them all out and sends them home the other half of the time. Suna manages to keep up with everyone, even if he does struggle more. They win all their practice matches against other schools, and Osamu is in excellent form for every match. Suna breathes a little easier.  
  
“Do you want to go to the library tomorrow?” Suna asks Osamu on the way home after another Saturday training.  
  
“Again? All we’ve been doing together is studying and training,” says Osamu. “Don’t you want to take a break and… I don’t know, go to the arcade or something? Grab lunch and just chill out somewhere?”  
  
Suna stops walking abruptly, slaps a hand over his chest, and says, completely deadpan, “Miya Osamu, you _wicked man_ , are you asking me out on a _date?_ ”  
  
He dodges when Osamu swings his bag at him.  
  
“I’m serious,” he says. “We haven’t really gone out that much lately.”  
  
“We have plenty of time for scandalous trysts after you get into Chuo— _ow!_ ”  
  
Osamu’s bag has connected with his thigh. “What’s with you?” he says. “You bring up Chuo even more than I do.”  
  
“No, I don’t,” says Suna. “Do I?”  
  
“Yeah, you do.” Osamu looks impatient, now. “Ever since I mentioned it, we’ve been studying every time we’re together, otherwise we’re playing volleyball. What’s with that?”  
  
“I just concerned about your future, young man,” says Suna. “If you want to eventually have a ramen named after you, I’m gonna make sure you’re working hard for it.”  
  
“You sound like ‘Tsumu.”  
  
“Don’t make things weird!”  
  
“You know what I mean.” Osamu shoulders his bag again, and they fall into step beside each other. “It just feels like I haven’t seen you in a while.”  
  
“We see each other almost _every day_.”  
  
Osamu rolls his eyes and sighs. “Forget it. What time do you want to go to the library tomorrow?”  
  
Suna reaches for his hand, and Osamu’s frown eases a little. “Let’s say about half past nine? And then we can grab lunch nearby.”  
  
“Afterwards, let’s go to the arcade,” says Osamu. “No, don’t look at me like that. We’ve been working all week; I don’t know about you, but my brain’s going to melt. Let’s have some fun, okay? You can quiz me all you want in the morning, but not after that.”  
  
Suna snorts. “Okay, deal. But—”  
  
“I am two-thirds done with my Japanese literature essay.”  
  
“Right. And—”  
  
“I am not behind on my maths homework.”  
  
“And—”  
  
“Nor my English reading, _Suna-sensei._ You’re going full nerd on me, and it’s freaking me out. You’re not allowed to bring up Chuo at all tomorrow.”  
  
“Okay, okay,” says Suna, relenting. He brings their hands up so he can press a kiss to Osamu’s knuckles. “No mention of Chuo.”  
  
“You mean it?”  
  
“For every mention of Chuo that I drop, I owe you an onigiri. Promise.”  
  
Now, a half-smile crosses Osamu’s face, and Suna feels a bit of tension lift from his shoulders. Had it really been that bad? Maybe Osamu was right, maybe they just needed a break… it was okay to have a day off, right?  
  
They could take a break. And they’ll continue on afterwards. The world wasn’t ending. They would make this work.

 

* * *

 

  
  
While walking through the corridor back to his classroom, Suna is holding a three-page black-and-white printout with some bullet points and blocks of text on it. _Sports physiotherapy_ , reads the heading at the top. Of all the careers and courses that the careers counsellor has (very) patiently thrown his way, this one grabs his attention the most. It surprises even Suna a little bit, but then again, he hadn’t really thought about it much in general.  
  
_Kobe University,_ Suna reads on the last page of the printouts. _Osaka University of Health and Sport Sciences. Kyoto University._ Their courses stood out to him the most, though none of them were quite next door. Kobe University was the closest, being an hour away by train and bus; Kyoto University and the Osaka University of Health and Sport Sciences were both almost two hours away. He could manage the commute… or maybe he could find a place nearby to live in while he studied… would that be expensive, though? How would he—  
  
Someone plucks the printouts from his hands, and he exclaims, “ _Hey_ —” and looks up to see Osamu observing the first page.  
  
“Sports physiotherapy?” says Osamu, raising his eyebrows. “You never mentioned this.”  
  
Suna shrugs. “I hadn’t considered it until today.”  
  
“Hm… it could suit you, though. You’re a science nerd, and it’s probably something that could keep you interested, right?”  
  
“Maybe.” Suna claims the printouts back from him before he can get to the last page.  
  
“Do you want to talk about it?”  
  
“No, I need to have lunch. Have you eaten yet?”  
  
“Of course, but I can always steal from yours.”  
  
Suna snorts, and Osamu follows him to his classroom to laze at Suna’s desk and sneak bits of food from his bento. Part-hungry and part-distracted, Suna lets him. Neither bring up the sports physiotherapy course.  
  
He _should_ talk about it. He can’t hide from it, and it’ll catch up to the both of them soon, but right now… it was so much easier to pretend they had all the time in the world, so much easier to focus on pushing Osamu towards Chuo University and that dazzling world stage, rather than think about Suna’s own part of their futures.  
  
Because he knows now, that after high school is done, they would go their separate ways. They could be in a long-distance relationship, of course, but given Osamu would need to re-settle in quite a different city, away from everything that had been familiar, and then deal with a completely different schooling system, keep up with his studies and the intensity of a university volleyball club, and possibly work on scoring one of Chuo’s scholarships, it made more sense that they would need time away from each other.  
  
Suna would be fine with being mistaken, but he knows he isn’t, this time. The thought stings and aches and pulses uncomfortably, so the less he thinks about it, the easier it is. As if that would ever be enough.  
  
He finishes his lunch and puts away his bento box. Osamu is on his phone, watching a volleyball match from last year between Tokai University and the University of Tsukuba, and commenting on the power of each players’ serves and how well Tokai’s libero works with their middle blockers. Half-listening, Suna rests his cheek against his hand and he watches the way Osamu animatedly gestures at the video. He’s usually deadpan about things outside of volleyball, and even though they’ve known each other since early on in their first year, sometimes Suna still gets thrown off guard. That’ll probably never change about him, or the two of them. There is something bittersweet about this.  
  
Suna eyes trail over every part of Osamu’s face, etching every detail into his mind, holding onto him for as long as he can. He thinks of orange juice bottles and quiet comfortable naps and mellow music and summer and dashing through the neighbourhood and Osamu holding onto his shirtfront like it’d take all the force of the sky splitting for him to let go and countless hours of volleyball and studying and sharing food. He thinks of loving him enough to push him away. He reaches out and rests his free hand on Osamu’s arm.  
  
Osamu stops gesturing, and says, “What?”  
  
Suna smiles into his palm.  
  
“Nothing,” he says.

 

* * *

 

  
  
That distance between them that needs to grow, held together by little kisses and light touches and comfortably leaning on each other, lingers in his mind and grows stronger whenever he thinks about the sports physiotherapy courses he’s been presented with, and Chuo. Maybe it shows on his face, because Osamu asks him a few more times what he’s thinking about, only to have Suna smile and brush it off as casually as he can, and swiftly divert topics. Suna is not a good actor, though; he’s not sure how long he can pretend.  
  
Osamu’s grades and performance in volleyball training and matches are steady. More universities’ volleyball teams have made their interest in the Miya twins known, and they are louder about Osamu, too; one scout from Chuo has approached the Inarizaki team in general. Suna breathes a little easier. The distance between him and Osamu still lingers.  
  
It all finally snaps, one day. Looking back, he’s not completely sure why it took so long—maybe they were both just good at holding on.  
  
“Have you thought more about those sports physiotherapy courses?” Osamu asks him in the corridor before classes start for the day. Suna feels a funny little swoop in his stomach, and continues scrolling through his phone as he leans against the wall, avoiding looking at him.  
  
“Just a little,” he says. This is not true—he had been thinking about it every day.  
  
He supposes Osamu can tell he’s lying, because he leans against the wall beside him, a little heavily, as though disappointed. Suna can almost hear him fight back a sigh.  
  
“You’ve been different, you know,” says Osamu quietly. “I don’t remember when it started, but it feels like you’re not telling me something important.”  
  
Suna’s eyes flicker up briefly, before looking back down at his phone and giving a fake little laugh. He is not a good actor. “I don’t know what you’re—”  
  
“Can you at least pretend I’m not an idiot, Rin?”  
  
“I never—”  
  
“What’s going on? Are you okay?”  
  
Now, Suna does look at him, for all the time it takes to say, “Of course I am,” and then looking away again. “Maybe I’m just stressed because of schoolwork.”  
  
“That’s not it, and you know it.”  
  
“I’m _fine_ , Osamu, so just drop it, okay?” says Suna before he can stop himself.  
  
“That just makes me worry _more_ , you know,” says Osamu, sharply.  
  
“I don’t need you to worry,” says Suna. “Just focus on volleyball and Chuo. I don’t—”  
  
“ _Again_ with Chuo!” Osamu turns to face him, shoulders tense now. A few students nearby shoot them part-nervous and part-curious looks. Suna stares at him, startled, heart racing uncomfortably. “You bring it up almost every day, you never talk about your own uni plans, and we rarely even just hang out anymore because we’re always studying and training! What’s this about, Rin? And quit telling me it’s nothing. I’m your boyfriend, of course I’m gonna worry about you. I don’t know what’s bothering you, and you won’t say anything, and it’s like that time you kept avoiding me before you confessed to me, and I can’t—I don’t—I don’t _know_ , and I’m—”  
  
One last denial dies on Suna’s tongue as Osamu gives a helpless gesture with his hand and his shoulders slump. He looks frustrated—Suna’s seen that sort of look on the rare days he has an off day at volleyball training, and it’s never a nice feeling. He reaches for his hand, but Osamu pulls away.  
  
“What’s wrong, Rin?” he says, quieter, and Suna almost caves.  
  
( _Miya Osamu, in the black and red of the national team’s uniform, stepping out onto the court with the whole world watching_.)  
  
He tries, as gently as he knows how: “Don’t worry about—”  
  
“ _Fuck off,_ ” Osamu snaps, and Suna freezes. They had their occasional bickering and arguing, both as friends and boyfriends, but it had always been over silly little things, like Mikasa vs Molten, or which Gari Gari Kun flavour was the best for which season, or who last had Suna’s DVD copy of such-and-so movie. They had never reached this low—Suna had never been the target of Osamu’s anger like this before.  
  
Osamu looks shocked at his own words, and Suna isn’t sure what to do from here. It’s not that he’s angry—indeed, Osamu would probably be more upset at himself—but he’s been completely caught off guard. No amount of trying to play it off as a joke or gently deflecting would help now.  
  
The fight seems to leave Osamu completely, and he rocks back on his heels and drops his gaze. He looks smaller, somehow. There is an unpleasant churning in Suna’s stomach, and he opens his mouth to speak, but Osamu beats him to it.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, and then he pushes past him and hurries away. Suna doesn’t run after him.

 

* * *

 

  
  
At lunchtime, Suna pokes his head into Osamu’s classroom. As expected, Osamu is there, napping on his desk, head pillowed in his arms. Suna watches him for a moment, before moving quietly to join him, pulling up a chair from the desk in front as he’d done so many times in the past. He sits, and leans his arms onto Osamu’s desk too, fitting lightly against him with a familiarity gained from past naps together, and Suna knows he’s woken him up now. Neither of them do anything about this.  
  
After a moment, Osamu reaches out and rests a hand on Suna’s arm. There’s the quietest of forgiveness here from both of them. For now, it’s okay. But only for now.

 

* * *

 

  
  
Of all the days, they don’t have volleyball training as a buffer today. The school is doing some maintenance on the lights in the gymnasium that they usually use, and the other gymnasium is occupied by the girls’ and boys’ basketball teams. If they were feeling particularly poetic, they might say that it was a sign that they couldn’t and shouldn’t run from what they needed to say to each other.  
  
Not that they felt poetic. Not that they needed a sign.  
  
They wait for each other by the school gates after cleaning duties are done, and don’t say anything, barely even looking at each other. There’s no anger anymore, but they both know something has changed. They don’t need a sign to tell them this.  
  
Somewhat automatically, they link their fingers together, and head out of school grounds, walking slowly, heads down when they’d usually be play-fighting or joking about something or other. It’s a warm day for this time of year, but they are distracted enough that they don’t really notice.  
  
They take a small detour and head to the riverside a handful of minutes away from their school. They don’t come here that often—never really needed to—but today, it feels like a good place to talk, uninterrupted. They drop their bags onto the grass and sit.  
  
“What’s going on, Rin?” says Osamu, and Suna knows he can’t brush it off anymore. He stares out over the river in silence for a while, pulling together his thoughts. Osamu waits, impatient.  
  
“You, a few years from now, in the national team’s uniform,” Suna says quietly. “Standing on the court. Everyone’s watching you.”  
  
There’s a pause, before Osamu says, confused, “Yeah? And where are you?”  
  
“Probably not there. Not on the court. Maybe I’m in the crowd.”  
  
“Quit being so cryptic, Rin. Just tell me what’s on your mind.” He nudges him with his knee, and adds, quieter: “Please?”  
  
At this, Suna exhales. But rather than feeling annoyed, he smiles a little and ducks his head. _Cryptic_ wasn’t quite like him. He really had been a bit infuriating over the past couple of weeks, hadn’t he? He and Osamu had always been so upfront with each other—what had changed?  
  
When did that happen? Why had he become so afraid of telling Osamu?  
   
“At Nationals,” he says, “there are going to be scouts from all over, watching us. Well—watching you and Atsumu.”  
  
“And you,” says Osamu, but Suna shakes his head.  
  
“I don’t know,” says Suna. “I’ll join my uni’s volleyball team, but I don’t know where I’m going from there. Uni volleyball is so different to high school volleyball. We’ve watched some uni games, and we’ve seen some of them train and… I don’t know if it’s the kind of ‘different’ that I’ll like. I don’t know what’s in store for me.” He sighs. “But I do know that you’re going to get into Chuo, and you’re going to be amazing. But… I’m not going to follow you to Tokyo—I’ve never wanted to go. I’m thinking of staying here, studying at Kobe Uni. Or, maybe in Osaka or Kyoto, if I can’t get in.”  
  
Osamu doesn’t protest at this—doesn’t look surprised. Suna expected this. Not because he thinks Osamu saw this coming, but because he handles defeat quieter than most.  
  
_Defeat_. Is that what he was calling this, now?  
  
“Why didn’t you just tell me?” says Osamu. “You kept running away.”  
  
Suna shakes his head. “I guess that’s what I’m good at. I lose a lot of my nerve around you, you know.”  
  
“That’s a terrible excuse.”  
  
“I know. And I’m sorry I didn’t say anything earlier. I guess I just…” He gestures vaguely with one hand. “I really didn’t know how to bring it up. I didn’t want to think about it. You looked so excited for Chuo.”  
  
Osamu looks like he wants to reply, but instead, his shoulders slump a little, he plucks restlessly at some blades of grass instead.  
  
“I did think about us being apart,” he mumbles eventually. “But I guess I just figured that we’d just… make it work. Like, be in a long-distance relationship, or something, if you stayed here. And I think part of me hoped that you might come with me to Tokyo, too.” He brushes some grass off his knee and takes a deep breath. “Is that stupid of me?”  
  
“No,” says Suna, without hesitation. “Not stupid at all.” Nothing about this was stupid, and he’d never let Osamu think so.  
  
“I didn’t want to think about it, either.”  
  
“Trust me, I know the feeling,” says Suna.  
  
“There’s nothing I can say to change your mind, huh?”  
  
“About not going to Tokyo? No,” says Suna again, and this time, he knows Osamu can hear the apology in his voice.  
  
“You’ve thought about this a lot.”  
  
“Every day.”  
  
“And when you freaked out after I did badly on my science test…”  
  
“You were distracted. I know we joke about that, but… you were. We hadn’t really taken our studies seriously enough before, so when you told me you wanted to go to Chuo, it changed everything.”  
  
“Does it have to change everything, though?”  
  
“You know it does,” says Suna quietly.  
  
Still, Osamu pushes, and Suna loves him for it.  
  
“I can’t change your mind about this, either?” Osamu asks. He knows. He knows Suna’s answer, and he knows what’s coming.  
  
“Let’s break up,” Suna says in a breath. Because it’s a thing that needs to be done, and they both know that the longer they dwell on it, the harder it’ll be. _Suna broke up with Osamu,_ people will say. _Suna broke it off first._  
  
The look on Osamu’s face doesn’t change much, but in his attempt at staying expressionless, Suna can still recognise a reluctant acceptance, a quiet sadness—knows him well enough to see everything Osamu’s trying to keep hidden, like he doesn’t want to let on what he’s feeling—  
  
Oh. It hits Suna what this reminds him of: Osamu’s reaction to Atsumu being invited to the All-Japan Youth training camp, and his reaction to the multiple universities’ interest in Atsumu, but muted interest in himself.  
  
It’s enough to make Suna almost to take his words back. Where Atsumu is honest and blunt and doesn’t care who he burns with his words, Osamu often holds back. In their time together, he’s learnt not to hide things from Suna, so this feels like a step forward, and then a big step back. He fights back the urge to reach for Osamu’s hand, to lean to press a kiss to his jaw, to make empty promises that maybe they can work it out together after all.  
  
After what feels like an age, Osamu exhales softly.  
  
“I’m gonna get into Chuo,” he says. “I’ll make the volleyball team’s starting line-up in my first year.”  
  
“I know you will,” says Suna.  
  
“And I mean, I guess we should be… focusing on school stuff anyway. Or something. I don’t know.”  
  
“Granted, we barely focussed even before we were dating,” Suna points out.  
  
“Speak for yourself,” says Osamu. Suna cracks a smile, and Osamu shakes his head and asks, “Will you be at training tomorrow?”  
  
“Yeah. I think we should keep things as normal as possible.”  
  
“I guess.” And then, quietly after a pause: “I’m sorry I didn’t try harder.”  
  
“Hey, no,” says Suna, now physically turning so that he’s facing him. “Don’t do that. That wasn’t on you.”  
  
“I got so caught up with my own—”  
  
“You’re the one who wanted us to spend more time together, but I kept turning you down, remember?” says Suna. “That’s not on you.”  
  
Osamu looks like he wants to argue, and Suna braces himself in case he does something stupid, like kiss him to shut him up. But instead, Osamu turns too, so that they’re face-to-face, and he simply sighs. Suna relaxes.  
  
“Do you remember when I confessed to you?” Suna asks.  
  
“Of course. You literally ran away from me.”  
  
They both laugh a little—they’ll always have this, a memory of a time that had been high with emotions, but was funny looking back.  
  
They fall quiet, waiting, prolonging the moment for a while, as though that would make things better. Suna tries not to think that he would absolutely wait for Osamu for much longer after this, because they are both mutually trying to push each other away for the better, but it’s so _hard_ right now.  
  
“Thank you for running after me that time,” Suna says. His voice is quiet.  
  
“I never did get an answer, now that I think about it, but why exactly did you run off?” says Osamu, as though clinging onto any shred of lightheartedness he can find. “I mean, yeah, okay, you liked me and everything, but that never really explained the running away.”  
  
“I panicked,” says Suna, more matter-of-factly now. “I literally just panicked.”  
  
“You panicked and ran.”  
  
“I panicked and ran.” Osamu starts laughing in earnest.  
  
“I spent so much energy sprinting after you,” he says. “People will ask me, ‘how did Suna confess?’ and I’ll tell them, ‘I had to literally chase him down the street’, and they’ll say, ‘did he call the police’—”  
  
Suna laughs too, and says, “Can you imagine what people will say, now that you’re single again?”  
  
Osamu groans and buries his head in his hands. “It’s gonna be _chaos_.”  
  
“All the snacks and gifts you’ll get from hopeful candidates…”  
  
“ _Sto-o-op_.”  
  
“You’re welcome, by the way.”  
  
Osamu shoves at his face, and Suna swats him away, grinning.  
  
There’s an irony here—that the easiness in their company that they had been missing seems to come back only after they have broken up. Suna supposes that he’s mostly to blame for that. Without a fight, he accepts this.  
  
“It was fun,” he says. “All… this.”  
  
“It was,” says Osamu quietly. “I mean—I was happy.”  
  
“That’s good.”  
  
“You?”  
  
“Hm?”  
  
“Were you—Were you happy?”  
  
There’s an odd tone in Osamu’s voice that Suna’s never heard before—the slightest waver, a sort of fear, a kind of plea, as if saying, _tell me you were happy, tell me you were—_  
  
“Of course I was,” says Suna, without a hint of a lie, and Osamu breathes. “I liked you for almost half a year, dumbass. And when I—when you kissed me for the first time, and I realised you liked me back, it was like time had stopped.”  
  
“Poetic.”  
  
“It’s true, though.” Now, Suna turns so he’s facing the river again, stretches his arms and legs out before him, and ducks his head, a small smile on his face. “It was just… us. It was nice.”  
  
_Us._  
  
It had been nice. For each other, they had both been someone to lean on, a place to comfortably fall into, an easy presence on tiring days. He had been Osamu’s, and Osamu had been—  
  
(Suna swallows the painful lump forming in his throat.)  
  
—his, for a little while.  
  
Maybe he’d regret the break-up. But a wiser part of Suna knows that the regret will probably only be temporary—that the longer they cling to each other like this, the worse it’ll be. It is by no means a comforting thing, but he knows that it’s all they have left.  
  
They have fallen silent, running out of things to say for what’s probably the first time in the nearly three years they’ve known each other. It feels like an odd milestone of sorts—a marker, a signal, something symbolic. They’ve run their course. It’s time to go home.  
  
There’s a prickle in Suna’s eyes, and he steadfastly avoids looking in Osamu’s direction. Osamu seems to notice though, or maybe he can’t take it anymore either, and Suna can’t blame him. He stands up; Suna remains sitting.  
  
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” says Osamu quietly.  
  
Suna wants to say something, do something—touch Osamu’s hand, or stand to press a kiss to his temple maybe, both as gestures of goodbye, like something final. But the words are struggling to come out of his mouth and he doesn’t move. Instead, he simply purses his lips and nods.  
  
Osamu shoulders his bag, slips his hands into his pockets, and leaves.

 

 

 

—

 

  
Was it fair to call it heartbreak, if the break-up was mutual, and Suna was the one breaking it off first?  
  
Suna stares out over the river, eyes dazzled by specks of the afternoon sunlight reflecting off its surface. He had felt a ghost of something like this in a dream months ago—the first and so far only time he’s ever dreamt about Osamu, and now that he thinks about it, Osamu had never featured in any of his dreams when they were _actually_ dating. Wasn’t that weird? Surely there was some sort of psychological explanation for that.  
  
Maybe not.  
  
Suna rests his elbows on his knees, twists his fingers together, and presses them to his lips.  
  
A passerby might think he is praying, but Suna isn’t much of a praying person, and prayers wouldn’t help him now. And if he ever had to pray for Osamu to come back to him, then their relationship, whether platonic or romantic, was not a strong one, and Osamu deserved better than that.  
  
Maybe he _is_ praying. But maybe he’s praying for smaller things, like for tomorrow’s volleyball training to be particularly intense so he has less time to stand still, or for their friends to not be weird about all this when they find out, or maybe he’s praying for a dreamless sleep tonight, or maybe he’d just like his eyes to be dry right now.  
  
Maybe he isn’t praying at all. Maybe he’s apologising, instead. Maybe he just feels small and alone, and he knows that it’ll eventually pass, but right now, he’s allowed this, isn’t he? He’s allowed to be heartbroken for a little while.  
  
Just for a little while.  
  
Because if Osamu had to move on, then Suna needed to as well. Because Suna had long since accepted that he wouldn’t be able to give Osamu the world like he had originally hoped, and that was perfectly okay, but he could give him this much at the very least, like a modest offering to gods and shrines, to bright stars, to a beautiful boy with a warm laugh and a clever smile, who chased dreams bigger than Suna was, and did his best to hold on until they both had to accept that things were not meant to be.  
  
(And maybe, maybe, the tiniest part of Suna _is_ praying that someday, somehow, some way, things could work out and they could be together again. Because the feelings are still raw, still there, and he can’t picture being with anyone else for the moment. Because he’s only human, and humans are arguably built on things like wishes and prayers and hope, and if his prayer is never answered, then maybe it’s just punishment for his moment of selfishness, and that might be okay too, in the long run, and—)  
  
Suna lets his hands fall back into his lap, and he exhales.  
  
Just for a little while.  
  
And, tomorrow, they’ll do their best to make things as normal as possible. Things would be okay. They would be okay.  
  
Suna dries his eyes on his sleeve, and then stands and picks up his bag. He turns away from the river, and begins to head home.

 

* * *

 

  
  
Osamu had probably told Atsumu what happened, because the next day at volleyball practice, Atsumu seems hell-bent on making sure Osamu doesn’t have a second to stand around feeling down. He is utterly brutal from the minute training begins, berating Osamu during their toss drills for every minor imperfection, every mistimed set, every too-low angle; during spiking practice, he riles Osamu up (“Are you spiking against grade-school kids?! _No! You’re trying to slam Sakusa’s head off!_ ”) and refuses to stop tossing to him until the coaching staff yells for them both to take a much-needed drink break; they have a fierce competition over who can pull off more successful serves; half the time they are practicing receives, Atsumu is yelling at him, to the point where the coaching staff have to tell him to shut up.  
  
Osamu takes it all in stride. Like he has a promise to keep.  
  
Atsumu yells at Suna too, for slacking off on some of his spikes; for whatever reason, Kosaku is relentlessly trying to make sure Suna’s own serves are close to perfect; Ginjima is the only nice one—with his usual good-natured gusto, he asks Osamu to help him with receiving practice, and later, Suna to help him with blocks. There’s a reason why Ginjima is the first years’ favourite senior.  
  
Suna and Osamu exchange a tired nod or two over the course of the training session, but it’s never anything more, not with the both of them getting chewed out over minuscule mistakes—not with the break-up still fresh in their minds. They’ve got a practice match with a university team coming up, so maybe everyone’s just revved up for that, but Suna has a funny feeling that it’s a little more, like everyone just _knows_ that something has changed between him and Osamu, and are just as determined as they are to set things back to normal. His team’s always been in-sync in this odd way, reading each other like open books.  
  
“ _Samu! Your toss was too high that time!_ ”  
  
“All _right_ , you _demon_ —”  
  
“Rintarou! Ten more serves!”  
  
“I literally just picked up my bottle, Yuuto.”  
  
“ _Rintarou_.”  
  
“Got it…”  
  
Suna is at home, here. Osamu is at home, here.  
  
They’ll figure things out on their own. One day, Osamu will light up the courts in the black and red of the men’s national volleyball team’s uniform, and Suna will be watching, knowing that he made the right choice, no matter how badly it hurts them both right now.  
  
They’ll grow, and move on, and keep walking. They’ll figure it all out.

 

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/naffnuffnice)


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